10 March 1691, Thursday
Where is the Spring time? The sun? The warmth? At home, in England, March can be warm and sunny or cold and even snowy. In like a lion, out like a lamb. But we are still in the clutches of the lion’s great claws here in the Massachusetts Bay with sharp, biting rains and frigid winds. I wonder if the weather is merely an external manifestation of our inner turmoils.
Father cannot get enough of it, listening to Parris spew his venom about the Devil as though the minister were personal friends with the Fiend, as though the minister himself were responsible for unleashing the Evil fate of his daughter, his niece, and the others who are now afflicted. I have told Father I shall no longer accompany him to watch the examinations. I fear I am becoming paranoid, searching
